From Such Trivial Things
by Lord Ironwolf
Summary: The cause of the Horus Heresy was not what you thought it was.


REPORT BEGINS+

Greetings my lords.

Below you will find a transcript of the research that I have been instructed to conduct as a requirement for promotion to Assistant Scribe. On one hand the assignment was rather simple, deliver a concise assessment of the causes of the Horus Heresy. On the other, attempting to write something that has not been redone several million times by other hopeful previous applicants has presented a real challenge. My reasons for leaving you this dataslate instead of delivering my findings in person will be explained later. My research took me along several unique avenues and I do believe I have discovered some interesting facts that have not been covered in previous dissertations.

Given the word count restrictions handed down, I will happily dispense with the usual torrent of written flotsam and jetsam that seems an unspoken requirement for what is normally referred to as serious research. To put it bluntly, the whole disastrous affair was ultimately due to the power armor in use at the time. Or to be more precise, defective power armor being used.

Although there was only one designation of the type of armor used during that period, I discovered from the comparison of SCT's (Standard Construction Templates) that were in use during that era, that there were two slightly different versions. The versions were not intermixed. Each legion received only one version of armor. Legions that received and used the one version of armor remained loyal whereas those legions that received the other version all eventually went over to Chaos. Whether this distribution was by accident or design is not something that I was able to discover. However, I do find it to be an extreme coincidence that it was an almost 50/50 distribution amid active legions.

Now then, I'm sure that you're quite interested in knowing just what kind of defect was in those suits of armor. To be certain, it was not an obvious defect and most defiantly not any type of Chaos contamination. Such things would have been easily detected and corrected. The actual problem was much more subtle and insidious. It is well known that Space Marines spend a great deal of time in their armor. The defect would not be noticed until at least a weeks worth of constant use. The condition produced I'm sure has a very long and complicated technical name, but for simplicity's' sake I will use the layman's' term. It gave them a ….'wedgie'.

Although I am not there in person, I can see the incredulous expressions on your faces. I can also almost hear you shouting about how such a common, insignificant thing can be claimed to be the root cause for an event that nearly tore the galaxy in half and caused the death of uncounted billions. Before you discount the concept totally out of hand, consider two inescapable and undeniable truths. First, for the general population at large consisting of people like us, rectifying (yes I chose that term deliberately) that condition is extremely simple. A discreet reach back, a gentle tug, and all is well with our lives again. Second, Space Marines do not enjoy this luxury that we take so much for granted. They are often required to exist in their armor when on campaign for weeks if not months at a time. Frequently when this happens, they are in situations or environments where it is undesirable if not fatal to unseal the armor for any reason. They must endure this condition of steadily growing discomfort with no relief to be had until the end of the campaign.

It was the gestalt of thousands of minds screaming out in mutual, massed frustration and anguish that attracted the attentions of the Ruinous Powers, not the personal desire for power, wealth, pleasure and glory. Those that were driven to nearly insane rage were given a means to vent their rage by Khorne. Those that enjoyed the sensation were taught by Slannesh that it was but the first of many forbidden pleasures to be had. Those that prayed for a change in their condition had their prayers answered by Tzneech. I am a bit uncomfortable discussing the exact details of what happened to those that developed a rash. Suffice it to say that Nurgle sought them out and showed them the advantage of their condition.

So there you have it, the root cause of the corruption to Chaos of half the Space Marine legions can be traced to faulty power armor. Was it by horrible accident or devious design? Who knows? However, it would not be beyond the imagination to see some scrawny, over educated tech with a massive inferiority complex deliberately altering the construction matrix to prove what a big man he was.

By now you must also realize why I am not there in person. I well remember last year when a rumor was circulated that one of our policies on restroom breaks might be outdated and needed to be changed. I dare say that the Inquisition themselves would have been impressed with the way you dealt with that. If just the suggestion of such a minor change can provoke such a response, I can only imagine what your reaction to something that contradicts a long standing, well known fact might be. I will be honest though, the mental picture of the group of you lying on the floor twitching and foaming at the mouth does have a certain amount of amusement value. So, knowing that trying to introduce any kind of original thought to the unthinking monolith that is our bureaucracy is frowned upon, and that the frown is usually on the face of a man in a black trench coat holding a bolt pistol to the back of the head of the unfortunate soul that voiced that thought, I decided to not make myself available.

The next question on what passes for your minds is likely to be why I am bothering with this when I know how it will be received. Well, simply put, I promised to. You see, there I was in the archives getting more frustrated by the hour after reaching dead end after dead end searching for new material and seeing my hopes for a promotion die a little more with each failed search. It was then that the terminal crashed. In despair and frustration I raised my hands and shouted at the ceiling "What else can go wrong?"

It was a rhetorical question and I was quite startled when a voice behind me answered it by asking me if he could be of some assistance. I must have been too intent on my research to hear him approach for I don't recall ever hearing any footsteps. The fellow I discovered there was quite non-descript. There was nothing remarkable about him except for a lop-sided, knowing grin. He didn't appear to be anyone that could be of much help as he was dressed too simply to have a very high ranking, but I couldn't work any more anyway so we fell to talking. He was very sympathetic and understanding as I explained my dilemma. I will confess that his comment 'one of my better ones' left me a bit confused and wondering if he was really listening. Shortly though, I forgot all about it as he amazed me by not only getting the terminal to work again, but suggesting several new lines of investigation. He also must have been of a much higher in the Administratium than I suspected. He was able to access files and data banks that I know for a fact should have had very high seal codes on them.

My elation at finding something new was quickly brought back to the ground when I realized I couldn't tell anyone for fear of being shot as a heretic. This amazingly helpful gentleman assisted with that as well. He showed me how to create a new ID for myself and how to access Administratium credit accounts on any Imperial planet. I was overjoyed; I could finally speak my mind and not fear brutal retribution for expressing an original thought. I asked how I could repay him and he merely made me promise to file this report. He said the rest would take care of itself. Personally, I found that last bit to be very cryptic. Even though I would never see him again, I insisted on knowing his name so I could thank him properly by at least saying a few prayers to the Emperor for his continued well being. He assured me that thanks was not needed (and he had a most disturbing smile as he said that) and that if I needed to give him a name, just call him 'Murphy', and not to worry about not seeing him again. He assured me he would "be around". For some reason I can't place, that left me quite troubled.

REPORT ENDS+


End file.
